Vanguard
by The Readers Muse
Summary: Strategy was his area of expertise after all.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own "A Discovery of Witches" or any of the show/book's characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:**I wanted to examine Matthew and Diana's relationship in episode six through the eyes of Baldwin when he arrives at Sept-Tours.

**Warnings:** vampires, animal traits and behaviors, reference to mating, canon appropriate violence, drama, angst, romance, pining, blood and injury, possessive behavior, allusions to torture, moody siblings™.

**Vanguard**

_"What's the Congregation done with her? Where is she? I'll kill you if you've harmed her. Where is she?!"_

_"If I knew where she was, I'd have taken her back to Venice already!"_

* * *

The witch smelled like blood and tear-salt. Uninteresting at first. Boring. Less like henbane and sage than he might have expected, but still unremarkable.

Pity.

He'd assumed she'd be notable. Peter had insisted her powers were slight, but his interest had been piqued by his brother's involvement and her apparent ability to retrieve the Book of Life. The dichotomy between the interested parties had intrigued him. Peter stank of desperation whenever it was brought up. Agatha seemed far too focused on something she avoided saying anything about. And of course, his _dear_ brother had managed to steal her away from the beginning.

There was a shift in power happening in real time.

He could feel it.

And somehow, it all centered around Diana Bishop.

Her family line, after all, was more than distinguished.

But apparently that meant very little if first impressions were anything to go by.

_All this fuss over a witch who barely stank of their precious potions and herbs?_

It didn't fit.

* * *

Still, she was inescapable.

He had been looking for her when he arrived, but the fact that her scent was the first thing that greeted him at Sept-Tours surprised him. Despite the whirl of helicopter blades that should have weakened the scent pools, she was all he could smell. The taint of warmblood sweat was the most obvious, as if he'd just missed her running along the gravel path. Cheap sneakers biting into the salt-rock. Kicking up dust and grit that only tasted like witches'-spice in the most fragmented echo.

It was strange. He'd never smelt a witch so removed from magic. The witches he knew grasped at magic with open greed. Wanting more. Wanting to _know_. But not her. It was as if she avoided it, or perhaps magic avoided her. It was akin to a vampire shunning the hunt or a particularly needed glass of wine. Meaning that it was completely unheard of.

Martha had been waiting for him by the gate, but he'd taken a moment to scent the air. Wondering if he'd be lucky enough to run across her without Matthew's interference. He had his share of questions and more than that, he wanted to take her measure.

He sighed as he entered the house, smelling the witch thick on the ground level.

It would take ages to be completely rid of her.

A witches' scent dominating his territory had been unsettling. Following wisps down the hall when he greeted Ysabeau in the parlor. The bouquet grew more complex as he looked around. Able to tell where she'd sat on the couch the night before and what chair she'd been served at for dinner. His curiosity was only interested further by Ysabeau's reaction to his scenting.

"She's hardly hiding behind the drapes, Baldwin... do give her some credit. I've been forced to. She seems to have that effect."

His eyebrow had arched, disbelieving.

That was as far as he got before Matthew had thrown the first punch of the afternoon.

His brother truly was an unimaginable pain in his ass.

* * *

_"You can do it! You're doing it, Diana."_

But when he leaned down, pulling the witch through the mouth of the oubliette, all he could smell was Matthew and the rawest form of longing.  
_  
"That's it! ...Gently, gently."_

He had scented her on purpose, ensuring he'd be able to recognize her anywhere. But he hadn't been prepared for it. It had rocked him back on his heels, rising from them in waves. Glad his expression was hidden in the dark as he gentled her over the edge. All his brother's attention focused on the woman in his arms.

It was unlike anything he'd smelled in all his years.

He'd never mated. Philippe had tried to explain it to him, but failed to find the right words. Ysabeau had never bothered, watching him watch her with a wry expression he might have taken offense to any other time. Only sharing that until he experienced it for himself, he couldn't possibility understand. But now, as his brother nuzzled into her hair, unbothered by the reek of witch-blood, he knew instinctively _this_ was what that was.

The witch and his brother smelled like dewed honey and cloves. Ladies mantle and Matthew's rage. Female sweat and a powerful vampire's desire. The bad and good parts of a favorite story. There was smothered heather in high summer and ice on a windowpane - the birch bark that framed it slowly moldering to termite-flakes. It smelled like the leather he used to wear in the Legion and the surge of protection - similar to adrenaline - that promised he would do anything- _anything_ to protect-

_"Matthew..."_

He wrenched himself away, letting Matthew carry her as he led the way back to the helicopter. Viciously watching their front as the stink of Gerbert and another witch teased the tense air. Saying nothing at his brother's growl, one she wouldn't have been able to hear as they met eyes over her head. Uncharacteristically, he looked away first. Allowing him to soak her in without witnesses as the witch clung to him weakly. Her power acrid on the air, like ancient earth freshly overturned.

And by the Gods above and below, she _was_ powerful.

More powerful than any witch he'd come across.

He was caught off guard when Matthew trusted him with her. Allowing him to hoist her into a seat as his brother ducked in after her. Fussing with her belt. Deaf against the beat of the helicopter blades until he handed him a pair of headphones for her to wear. Careful not to seem too interested when his hands came back rouged with the witches' blood - pearling through the back of her torn jacket.

Instead, he wiped them on his slacks and pulled out his phone.

She would need medical attention as soon as they landed.

* * *

_"I'll never let you go again."  
_  
The moment the words left his brother's lips, he knew that no matter the Council's decree, he wouldn't be able to persuade Matthew to bring her to Venice. He wouldn't leave her side. He'd rip the entire city apart if it came to it. The need to protect was coming off him in waves. No wonder Marcus and Miriam had sensed it early. He'd never smelt a bond this powerful, not even between Philippe and Ysabeau.

He would have to think of another way.

But, as a matter of principal, he would let Matthew believe differently.

At least for now.

He wanted to know how far his brother would go to keep her safe.

Philippe's chair creaked as he settled in to wait in his father's study.

Strategy was his area of expertise after all.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

**Reference:**

\- Vanguard: a group of people leading the way in new developments or ideas. Also known as the foremost part of an advancing army or naval force.


End file.
